Slowly, oh so slow that not even the earth would know it was moving, there crept a dark creature forth from the enemy line. A thing all of spirit could not have gone more invisibly. Lying like a stone as motionless for spaces uncountable, stirring every muscle with a controlled movement that could stop at any breath, lying under the very nose of the guard without being seen for long minutes, and gone when next he passed that way; slowly, painfully gaining ground, with a track of blood where the stones were cruel, and a holding of breath when the fitful flare lights lit up the way; covered at times by mud from nearby bursting shells; faint and sick, but continuing to creep; chilled and sore and stiff, blinded and bleeding and torn, shell holes and stones and miring mud, slippery and sharp and never ending, the long, long trail——!
“Halt!” came a sharp, clear voice through the night.
“Pat! Come here! What is that?” whispered the guard. “Now watch! I’m sure I saw it move——There! I’m going to it!”
“Better look out!” But he was off and back with something in his arms. Something in a ragged blood-soaked German uniform.
They turned a shaded flash light into the face and looked:
“Pat, it’s Cammie!” The guard was sobbing.
At sound of the dear old name the inert mass roused to action.
“Tell Cap—they’re planning to slip away at five in the morning. Tell him if he wants to catch them he must do it now! Don’t mind me! Go quick!”
The voice died away and the head dropped back.
With a last wistful look Pat was off to the captain, but the guard gathered Cameron up in his arms tenderly and nursed him like a baby, crooning over him in the sleet and dark, till Pat came back with a stretcher and some men who bore him to the dressing station lying inert between them.